Regina Sketches
by relaxovision
Summary: A series of unrelated drabbles, some of which are the result of live writing sessions. Latest chapter: Swan Queen, first time.
1. They call it 'technology'

**They call it 'technology'**

Regina knew her curse would strip her off all magical power. She figured it was worth Snow's suffering, so she gave up all spells and witchcraft. She traded dark dresses for suits and her castle for a mansion - sacrificed her queenship, too.

The misery written into the faces of the citizens of Storybrooke makes up for all of that by far.

What Regina hadn't taken into account, though, was that this new place Rumple's curse would send her to, would hold its very own kind of magic:

They call it 'technology'.

Light switches are practical in a land where a flick of her wrist combined with sheer will power fail to set objects on fire. It only takes Regina half an hour and three light bulbs to realize those electric torches work without being touched – or moved – or shattered.

Practical, indeed.

Other devices turn out to be more complicated, but still manageable: She burns herself on the stove, blinds herself temporarily while testing out her camera, almost has a heart attack the first time she finds the on-switch to her vacuum cleaner and finds out that pretty much everything creates noise regardless of if it's working right.

There are cars and buzzing motors, television commercials and radio jingles; there are telephones: a whole nother kind of mystery; beeping and rattling and honking and clicking and tapping and rustling; there's the low humming of electricity everywhere. Regina had no idea that lifeless objects could create such a variety of sounds.

She soon learned that the other magic of this world is called 'Advil'.

Right now she's sitting at her desk, eyes squinted and dry already, brows furrowed and her head pounding viciously. She feels her blood pump fast through her veins and her heartbeat just adds to the orchestra of noise pollution.

'You need an email account.' they said.

'It's an efficient way to communicate.' they said.

'It'll prove to be practical.' they insisted.

Mumbling curses to herself she moves the cursor, clicks, clicks again and – cub! Where is that new beeping noise coming from?

It subsides when the printer spits out an empty sheet and then another. Regina huffs and resumes searching the screen in front of her.

After everything she's worked her way through already, this final task should be simple: Sending that damn email. It should be so simple, but for some reason it's just _not_ and Regina can't understand how a world without magic harbors such dark forces. She's stripped off her equipment, left defenseless to a fiend that seems to feed off her frustration.

Patience: Another practical concept she fails to grasp.

Then the phone goes off and Regina – startled - almost falls out of her chair. She frowns at the devil's device and lets it ring four times before the answering machine records a message:

"It's Graham. I was wondering if you received my email. I don't mean to push, but you requested those documents as an urgent matter. Please let me know if I should resend them."

And there it is again: The dreaded 'beep' every piece of technology seems to make at any given opportunity.

Regina's left eye twitches. She downs a glass of water – her third one within the past thirty minutes. She leans back, breathes a couple of times and finally hammers her fingers onto the keyboard.

It doesn't accomplish anything, which was to be expected, but life is unfair and Regina is exhausted and simply feels like crying.

'Just one more attempt', she tells herself. 'One more attempt and if it doesn't work, I'll call Graham and let him fix this for me.'

When Henry's nanny drops him off after school, he finds his mom with her head on her desk – asleep and still frowning.


	2. Mantled Hope

Written before a live audience:

**Mantled Hope**

He imagined this.

He used to dream about it on lonely nights and dark days: ever since he got his book of stories. But he never thought it'd be this easy.

It's late already, but Henry knows he's got to wait a little longer still. He's tired and his stomach churns: a weird mixture of excitement and anxiety. He clutches the satin bundle in his arms and holds tight - holds tight to hope, to light within the darkness. But the softness of the material fails to ease his nerves. He pulls up his knees to his chin. And he breathes. Right now there's nothing else to do.

Moonlight creeps through the crack between the curtains of Henry's bedroom. He's still breathing. His palms are sweaty and he holds on tighter - holds on to hope. He's focused; he's determined.

Bare feet sneak soundlessly through halls he once used to call his home. Now he feels the walls closing in on him. He wants to run: run from Regina's prison; run from the blackness of her soul.

But despite his fear he remembers: He remembers that he's good. And running is not what a hero does. He's going to face her. He's going to... he's going to save her - and himself.

He holds his breath and he cracks open the door to Regina's bedroom - careful not to make a noise. Thankfully the wood doesn't creak. The queen is still sleeping and he'd kiss her curse away if he could. He steps closer to her bed and watches - watches her be: The covers rise with every heartbeat. Her face is relaxed and so calm and if he didn't know it better, Henry would mistake her for a simple person. He'd mistake her for a mom.

He thinks of times when he was little: better times. He remembers how he used to curl up to her side; how she'd wrap her arms around him and how safe he felt - how safe she made him feel. It never lasted long.

The urge to slide beneath those covers with her is gone now, though - ever since he got his book of stories.

Ever since that nagging feeling in his guts received its name: Lies.

He turns the bundle in his arms and prays, prays to crimson magic and to fate:

Please work.

And he unfolds the cloak: red like the name of the person he stole it from.

It's enchanted. He understands that it takes away evil; it tames monsters, frees the humanity trapped inside a monstrous shell. Henry thinks that maybe his mom, too, is possessed by a foe - much like a wolf. The beast within her roars and lashes out, unleashes wrath upon anyone who dares cross her path; at anyone who dares scratch her shell. She's a vessel for these forces.

Some people, Henry knows, enshroud themselves, create a shell from bitterness, protect their core with steel made from darkness. It's a cloak that shields their hearts.

But that's a choice. That's not what happened to Red. And Henry - he prays, prays that he's wrong about Regina. He prays that The Evil Queen is possessed by a power outside of her control. He prays that destiny will have mercy with his family.

Regina stirs and sighs and Henry holds his breath again. She's still asleep.

He spreads the cloak and splays it across the sleeping figure, smoothes out wrinkles and pulls at the hems until she's fully covered. He allows himself to touch her through the crimson guard - let's his fingers linger just a little longer than intended. Even if it might just be for the seconds between this moment and the disappointment that's to follow:

Right now he's safe.

Turning on his heels he sneaks back to the door. Dim light shines in shallow rays through the crack. With the handle still in hand and tears in his eyes already - what if it doesn't work? - he looks back: looks back to the sleeping queen. He wishes nothing more than to be a hero.

"I love you, mom."


	3. Mending Trust (Swan Queen)

**Mending Trust (Swan Queen)**

Regina had always figured it was part of the deal: Sex.

She usually avoided talking about it, thinking about it. It was just something that she did or something that was done to her, depending on who was in charge. That's what she had been taught in the night of her wedding: Bodies are just vessels, tools used to fulfill a purpose. She'd close her eyes and wait, wait for it to be over; wait to be able to breathe again. She'd wait to be told she did good; that she fulfilled her purpose. That she still had a purpose at all. It was a lesson she passed on to others, too.

That's why, when she looks at Emma now, she's clueless entirely. She knows it's part of the deal. She knows it's going to happen eventually; and she kind of wants for it to happen. She kind of really wants it very much.

"How's your lasagna?" Emma asks and Regina almost flinches. Emma just smiles smugly and takes another sip of wine.

They've talked about it, too; between conversations, in off-hand remarks:

"I can't."

"I'm sorry."

"It's ok."

Regina's aware of how much Emma wants her, wants to be with her. She doesn't even want to feel guilty about letting her girlfriend wait, and yet she does. It's like this part of the deal is embedded into the machinery of her organs. It's a technicality, a footnote, the fine print. And she wonders: if it's such a necessity and if this time she's actually happy with the deal she made, then why does she hesitate so much? Why does it still feel like she owes Emma her body?

"I made it. It's delicious." she states and Emma chuckles.

"I know." She lifts one eyebrow and looks at Regina. "Where are you right now?"

Maybe the kindness in Emma's voice feels like pressure. Maybe the blue of Emma's calm eyes causes guilt to churn her stomach. She'd never demand more than Regina is willing to give.

She places her fork next to her plate. And maybe she only feels guilty, because she's depriving herself of what she wants so much.

"I was thinking," She clears her throat, but her voice refuses to obey and trembles stupidly. "We could go to bed early."

There's a pause in which Regina stares at her plate and Emma stares at Regina and everyone swallows too loudly. Then Regina looks up, looks into those eyes that promise to wait forever and be patient for as long as it takes. She looks up into them until she sees them sparkle with green flecks of newness.

"Are you sure?"

It's a risky question, because Regina isn't quite sure about anything anymore. Her head spins and she wonders why now out of all times it suddenly seems so hard to just take what she wants.

Maybe that's because this time it's real.

Maybe it's because this time she wants something that she can actually have.

She breathes in and straightens her back and smiles. And it's so easy to smile at Emma.

.

She feels like innocent wonder and like daylight. She feels like mystery, waiting to be revealed. Emma kisses the darkness away, mends wounds with the tips of her fingers. Her lips are soft against rough embarrassment, but the goose bumps on Emma's skin are proof for that it's affecting her just as much.

She places her palm on Regina's stomach and waits, waits for the turmoil in her lover's organs to calm, waits for the fear to go away. And like a lover Regina feels, indeed. They look at each other and Regina searches the blue in front of her; she searches for bravery and finds it. Because Emma is brave – always has been. She was brave enough to save herself and not fall for the shadows lurking everywhere. She escaped the forces of self-doubt and – loathing. So Regina takes a leap of faith and lets herself fall backwards into unknown terrain: The world of Emma where there's love and hope.

Their lips meet and Regina sighs into the kiss.

Emma feels like encouragement and safety. The same palm from before comes up to rest on her sternum. Her breath hitches, but only once, and Emma never breaks the kiss. She cups Regina's heart; it feels like she's willing it to beat for her.

She builds Regina up slowly and in gentle waves; she draws out warmth, then heat, then pleasure. She holds her tight and brings her down and never lets go until Regina stops moving.

Regina feels like happiness.

She chokes on tears; it dawns on her that she has no experience with getting what she wants. Or what to do after. So she clings to Emma, pulls her close, kisses her face and strokes her hair. And she gathers her own bravery and leaps again. This time Emma feels like excitement and like bliss. And she tastes like truth unraveled: soft and distinct and like more. Regina intertwines their fingers when Emma falls apart in front of her. She holds her when she stops trembling. She holds her when Emma encloses her arms around Regina and they're holding each other.

She's still holding her when the first sun rays of the new morning creep through the curtains. It feels like a promise. And like trust.


End file.
